


Slow Dance

by lamardeuse



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little romance never killed anyone - did it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sentinel Thursday Proverb challenge.

He didn’t know why it should piss him off so much.  It didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t mean anything now for Sandburg to waltz and boogie and Macarena (Jim shuddered involuntarily) with a dozen women at the annual Policeman’s Ball.  Because they’d arrived together, and they were leaving together, and they were going to be fucking one another into the mattress later.  If Jim concentrated on blocking out the sights and sounds of the party, he could picture the curve of Blair’s neck as he threw his head back against the sheets, hear the sounds of his shallow, excited breathing, feel the rasp of hair against his mouth as he leaned in to taste a nipple.

Taste—Jesus.  That had been the most startling revelation when they’d become lovers, because while Jim had used his other senses on Blair with shameless frequency, he’d never tasted him.  Despite that, the taste of Blair, when it came, was shockingly familiar, like the airplane wallpaper of his old room or the route home from the station.  Without even intending to, he’d absorbed Blair in through his goddamned _pores_, and he realized there was no sense that was safe from him, no way to dial him down, shut him out.

Hard on its heels came the realization that he’d never been safe from Blair.  The thought terrified him at first, but now resided in the back of his brain, a residual hum that occasionally rose in pitch, accelerating his heart and setting off his flight response.

Tonight was one of those high-pitched times; the buzz was a persistent whine that was starting to attack his temples.  He watched another dance come to an end, another flushed and excited partner leave Sandburg’s arms with a smile.  Some of them, affected by Blair’s powerful gravity, stayed in orbit a little longer, chatting excitedly about nothing until another willing female was drawn in by the pull.

Like this one.  Obviously she didn’t know when to quit, because she had her hand on his arm and was leaning in, showing him a glimpse and a half of her sweaty cleavage.  Most of the Major Crimes gang had figured out he and Blair were together, but it wasn’t anything they’d talked about openly with anyone, nor ever intended to.  Being gay wouldn’t get you fired, but being your partner’s lover—no matter your equipment—got you a reprimand and a transfer.  So everyone kept their mouths shut, thank you very much, and Jim and Blair remained the best crimefighting team that the Cascade PD had ever seen.

Right now, though, Jim didn’t feel much like half of a dynamic duo.  He felt small, and mean, and he’d never come closer to striding across the room and—he didn’t know what he’d do.  Well, being a gentleman, he supposed he’d gently pry the woman’s hand off Sandburg’s arm, and then he’d throw the celestial object in question over his shoulder and carry him back to their little corner of the galaxy, where they could start working on their own personal supernova.

Wouldn’t that be special.  And unlikely.  Still, he took a step forward, then another, his feet obeying the dictates of his primitive lizard brain.  Before he could gather much momentum, however, Connor came up behind Blair and tapped him on the shoulder.

The other woman scowled, but considering Connor was taller than both her and Sandburg put together, she wisely didn’t put up much of a fight.  The next song started up, a slow one by Ella Fitzgerald, and Blair and Megan started into an easy rhythm.  As they turned, Connor caught Jim’s eye and gave him a playful wave.  Jim nodded and smiled, took a swig of his beer, and resisted the urge to flip her off.

Dammit, he was still angry.  And that wasn’t fair, because Megan had been their staunchest supporter after Simon.  More so in some ways, because while Simon wasn’t bothered by their relationship, it was pretty clear he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, either.  Connor was a pain in the ass sometimes, but she was a good friend.

Although it hurt to allow the music to flood his ears, he dialed up his hearing just enough to pick out their conversation. 

_“You’re gonna poke me in the eye with one of those things, Connor.”_  
__  
_“Well, you know the old proverb.”_

They chimed in together.  _“‘A short man who dances with a tall woman gets bust in the face.’”_  
__  
_“Classy, very classy,”_ Blair said, chuckling as he guided her around the floor.

_“I’m sorry, Sandy.”_  
__  
_“You should be.  That was pretty awful.”_

_“No, I mean—”_ She leaned in closer, and Jim dialed higher to catch her next words.  _“Sorry that I’m not Jim.”_

Jim’s pulse skyrocketed. 

_“Uh—yeah.  Well, it’s not a big deal.  He’s not much for dancing.” _ And Jim's pulse leapt again, because Blair was lying; he'd seen Jim dance with all kinds of women.  _“At least—not much for dancing with me.”_

_“Oh,”_ Megan said, and then they left off talking for a while.

Oh. 

Oh, man.

He’d never danced with Blair.

Which he supposed wasn’t all that weird, since they were private to the point of paranoia, and bars weren’t their thing.  So that left waltzing around the loft, which was—no, it wasn’t _weird_, exactly, it had just never occurred to him that Blair would want—

—_What?  To be close to you sometime when the two of you weren’t horizontal?  To do something romantic?_

It had never occurred to him that Blair would want anything that smacked of romance.  They weren’t exactly the hearts and flowers types.  They ate pizza, they watched the Jags, they fished, they camped, they didn’t—

—But maybe they should.  Because the wistful, disappointed tone in Blair’s voice was enough to get it through even Jim’s thick skull.  Blair wanted that, wanted at least a little romance, but probably didn’t know how to ask for it, didn’t know what Jim would think if he lit a few candles or wanted to make love to music.

Jim thought about it.  The Zep or Hendrix would be all right, or even some old jazz, he conceded; no way was he going to fuck to Celine Dion or Michael Bolton, though.  He’d have to draw a line somewhere.

And then his feet were moving

“Hey, Connor,” Jim said, tapping Megan on the shoulder.  “Mind if I cut in?”  Blair’s startled gaze rose to his face, which he was sure had the goofiest grin on it this side of…Goofy.

“Sure, Jim,” Connor purred, a matching grin on her face.  Blair continued to look stunned as Megan left them, still grinning.  Jim jerked his head toward the exit.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, leaning in close enough to make it dangerous.  “I’m tired of seeing you dance with everybody but me.”

One corner of Blair’s mouth jerked up.  “I haven’t boogied with Simon yet.  I promised him the next Isaac Hayes number.”

Jim lowered his head until their mouths were nearly touching.  “You don’t want to dance with me?”

Blair’s expression showed affection and frustration and love.  “Asshole,” he said softly, the word without bite.  “I want everything with you.”

“Then we’d better get started,” Jim said, and the next thing he knew Blair was steering him toward the exit, toward their own corner of the galaxy, where the only gravity they were responsible for was their own.

**Author's Note:**

> First published July 2004.


End file.
